Old Flame of Love
by BlondieBrit
Summary: A world meeting in Roma rekindles FrUK love for each other :
1. Chapter 1

Arthur shifted uncomfortably in his chair at the world meeting. The last time he had been at a meeting he had got ever so slightly drunk, and had an ominous feeling that he had said things to France that should have been left silent. He was planning on how to apologise for things he couldn't remember, when something broke his thoughts.

The door was pushed open gently and a blonde man shakily entered, quietly shutting the door behind him. He looked around discreetly from beneath his long lashes. The moment England saw France he let out a little smile and beckoned him over, giving him a quick embrace before sitting down, embarrassed at his public display of affection. France smiled at the unexpected gesture from the reserved man. France sat down with his usual grace but he seemed tense. England leaned close to him in an attempt to limit those overhearing.

"Francis, I…" Arthur started, trying to form some kind of apology but the Frenchman pressed a slender finger against Arthur's lips. In an almost silent whisper, Francis tried to console him.

"Ne vous excusez pas, Angleterre. We both said things we shouldn't have." He dropped his hand and the moment was over. Arthur wondered what kind of things Francis had said to him, and what Francis thought of him at that moment. It was certainly not unpleasant for a change; it couldn't have been that bad.

"Sorry anyway," Arthur muttered, biting his lip. France gave his hand a quick squeeze from under the table and the last countries trailed in.

To everyone's dismay, the meeting began with organised bonding activities. America read the memo and stood up.

"Everyone, make two teams." France grabbed England's sleeve forcibly. "You're going with me," he commanded and managed to resist a smile as Arthur obediently stood at his side.

Clusters of countries stood together in groups of 2 or 3, not looking enthusiastically about joining anyone else. America sighed. "2 groups, not 10! Go, go, go people, 5 seconds!" Francis decided to head over to China, with England right behind him. China smiled as he saw the two and they returned it politely. Other countries came over and joined them and they all faced the other team. America grimaced as he saw the axis powers huddled together looking around, still not decided which to join.

"Too late, I decide. Join them!" he pointed to the other team, with Russia towering over the others, metal pipe in his hand. Germany was sure he started to glow as a smile grew on his face when they walked over. Japan hadn't spoken a word as of yet and Germany wondered if he had eaten warm sushi or something.

"OK!" America started, a huge grin on his face. "I'm in that team…" he pointed to England. "…but obviously have to be spokesman so just pretend guys." Various muttering and irritated sighs began but America just grinned.

"Listen up! Activity 1, you will love this!" he started to laugh and Arthur's patience snapped. "Just read the bloody thing or I'll get up there and do it myself." France widened his eyes in a silent protest at the offer but Arthur ignored him.

"All of you stand in a circle pointing in and put your right arm out in front of you." Reluctantly, they did so. "Hold someone else's hand. Come on, anyone's hand it seriously doesn't matter!" He had been watching people trying to find their friend's hand and the buzz of whispering was growing in volume. "Done? Now do the same with the other one, with SOMEONE ELSE!" he screamed upon seeing what people were doing. "You can't let go, but you have to untangle yourselves."

"How the hell are we supposed to do that?" England snarled, his arm straining already, the hand he was holding was practically cracking his knuckles with the grip. "Just do it! Climb over each other and stuff, I did this at summer camp it's really fun guys. First to do it wins." At the last comment, both teams got to action.

"We have to win!" Someone in the other team shouted, and the atmosphere instantly changed to one of intense competition. Voices were raised, tempers were high, and the sudden excitement created a chaotic event. America was beaming down at them all getting stuck into his little activity, supposedly designed by his boss. He scanned down the list of various other games and mentally sorted them into an order. He rubbed at a speck of grease on the paper but had made it spread; he must have got chip grease on his hand. He wiped the hand on his jeans irritably and looked longingly at the half finished chips at his place.

He became aware of the profanities being shouted in various languages and heard a crash as someone fell over in the middle of everyone.

"Bordel de merde!" (Holy fucking shit) France screamed as his arm got twisted and trodden on by a clumsy boot. Spain swiftly lifted his foot and nearly fell again, much to his team's horror. "Stop moving," China ordered "We'll work around you, now lower your arm so Arthur can step over." Arthur, surprised, carefully stepped over and found his crotch close to the crouching France's head, a characteristic grin spreading across his face. "I have to move, I have to move," England called out hurriedly, and almost skipped over someone else's arm, and away from France. He ignored the Frenchman's violet puppy eyes and sighed. "I'm free!" Feliciano shouted in joy from the other team, causing increased anxiety in Arthur's team. They moved quickly, stepping over, under, through and around. It was a close thing, but with a little 'done' by Russia, the exhausted losing team collapsed on the floor in a heap. America frowned at being associated with the losers, but gave the others a thumbs up. "Now, next game!"

By the end of the games, there wasn't much time for a meeting and it was decided that business could continue the next day. America's bonding plan had worked and the countries were chatting in a relatively relaxed manner. On the way out, Arthur left with a pounding headache and a renewed suspicion of Francis' lack of morality. His previous concerns for his feelings were out of the window, having concluded that the man was absolutely unfazed by whatever he'd said, and their love-hate relationship was fully restored.

Arthur headed back to his hotel, which was conveniently situated close to the conference room for a change. He happened to pass a quaint little café with Italian country music playing softly. Arthur had a weakness for music, and also for pastries, causing him to involuntarily turn and head inside. To his delight he saw on the menu 'tè' and felt a grin forming as he ordered tea with his Rum Cake. Italian tea may not be the same as his favourite Earl Grey, but it would certainly do the job. He sunk into his chair and loosened his tie since it was a humid day, and without the cooling breeze that had been making walking bearable, it was sweltering. He picked up the fork and spun it slowly, checking for marks, before slicing into the cake. He tasted each ingredient, the hot burn of the rum, the sweetness of – perhaps vanilla? Arthur smiled. Italian food truly was some of the finest in the world.

As his tea arrived, the waitress was greeted by a grinning Englishman who was using the fork to point at the cake whilst making a satisfied, 'mmm' sound. She smiled and put the tea down next to him, about to pour the milk when he splayed his free hand over the cup and swallowed the cake. 'No milk. No gracié." She smiled again and took the milk away. Arthur coughed and ran a finger around the rim of the teacup before bringing the liquid to his lips. He was surprised to learn that rum and tea went together well. It was just then that Francis had decided to stick his head in the shop, also after some Italian cuisine. Arthur dropped the fork and brought the teacup up to his face in an attempt to hide behind it. It was unsuccessful, however for he soon heard a delighted flood of French.

"Oh, Arthur! Je vous manqué, mon cher."Arthur sighed and rolled his eyes.

"We've spent all day together, frog. Has your memory really gotten that bad, old thing?" Francis chuckled at that and glided over to the Englishman.

"You are so adorable when you are insulting me." He smirked as he pulled up the chair opposite Arthur and ran a hand through his hair.

"Je suis trop chaud," he complained, fanning himself with a menu. He started to fan Arthur but he slapped the menu away. "Arthur, how can you drink tea in this atroce heat?"

Arthur glared at him over the cup and took a long sip. Francis discreetly moved a hand across the table and over to the plate of cake.

"Don't." Arthur warned, but Francis ignored him and delicately picked up the fork, licking a crumb off before cutting himself a corner and bringing it to his mouth. "C'est bonne!" he looked surprised and Arthur snatched the fork away, wiping it on his napkin. Francis sniggered and leant across to the empty table next to them, grabbing a fork before falling back into his seat, brandishing his prize triumphantly.

"Oh, have the bloody cake then." Arthur pushed it towards him roughly, but Francis neatly divided it down the middle and started on his half. "How generous," Arthur grumbled, stabbing his piece and moving it to his mouth. He was aware of Francis' eyes on him and narrowed his own. "What?" he slammed his fork back on the plate and Francis tore his gaze away from Arthur's hypnotic green eyes.

The waitress came over again, asking if Francis would like anything. He predictably ordered red wine, equally predictably, in fluent Italian. Arthur drummed his fingers on the table in irritation as France flashed her a flirty smile and watched her leave. Arthur tried to ignore him and just drank some more tea. France turned back to Arthur at the movement. "Why do you hold the cup in that way?" Arthur looked down at his hand, little finger extended. He quickly curled it around the cup self-consciously. "It's how you are supposed to hold it, stupid." "Don't change, I find it quite funny." Arthur poured the hot liquid down his throat ignoring the burning, and put it down, folding his arms.

"Il conto per favore?" Arthur asked a passing waiter, and swallowed the rest of the cake, ignoring the man opposite him. It was getting rather awkward, not knowing what Francis was doing, so Arthur was pleased to hear the approach of the waiter again, until a bottle of wine was put on the table with two glasses. He put his head in his hands as Francis filled his glass before half filling his own.

Arthur took a sip; his love of wine rekindled, and then took a glug. France held his glass between two fingers and swirled the liquid around, inspecting it and smelling it before bringing it to his lips. Arthur found himself staring at the Frenchman's mouth and blushed, gazing into his wine glass. He thought about the last time they had drunken together, and found that he couldn't remember all that much. There was red wine then too. He felt a smile pull at his mouth and fought with it, disguising it with a cough. France re-filled his glass and Arthur took another glug.

Arthur grew aware of a leg brushing his own, and he tucked them behind his chair legs. Francis grinned and took Arthur's hand. Arthur pulled back but Francis was expecting that and gripped harder. He ripped his hand free, fumbled in his pocket and pulled out a note before placing it on the table and storming out of the shop, casting a glare in the general direction of the table. Francis slumped in his seat and downed his wine before pouring himself another.


	2. Chapter 2

Arthur was relieved to feel the breeze on his face, and once again headed for his hotel. He could taste the alcohol still, and couldn't help but be reminded of Francis, of fiery kisses tasting of wine and cigarettes. He felt his spine tingle as he remembered those hands on his skin. He shook his head, disappointed with himself, and looked around at the brightly painted houses, balconies bursting with flowers, and numerous cafés with seating areas full of people. Colours were everywhere, and were appreciated by Arthur. As much as he loved England, it was very green and grey, rural or urban. This rainbow of colour seemed to welcome him to the flamboyant country of Italy.

He noticed a pale blonde walking a good head above everyone else and recognized it as Germany. He almost called out to him, when he noticed Italy walking close to him and they seemed deep in conversation. It was then that Arthur saw the discreet hand hold and he smiled bitterly. He wasn't jealous exactly, but couldn't seem to escape reminders of his own complicated relationship with… he felt his thoughts trail off and his eyebrows furrow. There was absolutely no relationship between him and Francis. Any thoughts France has about romance would not mean the same to him. Francis would add him to the list of one-night stands, and Arthur would likely never be able to see the man again. Either that, or he would actually fall for him. Arthur grimaced and sunk into a nearby bench, leaning back and crossing his legs.

"Are you American? Do you speak American?" someone asked. Arthur sat up with a start; he must have fallen asleep.

"What? I'm British. Is anything wrong?" as his vision came into focus he saw the couple holding a camera nervously holding it out to Arthur. "Did we wake you? Can you take our photo?" Arthur groaned as he heaved himself up, taking the camera and heading to where the couple were hurrying over, posing against a shop-front. Arthur pressed the shutter, checked the photo for blurriness, and smiled, handing it back. "Thanks dude! See ya' round." They waved and went inside the shop. Arthur stretched and wondered how long he'd been asleep. He hadn't got round to changing the time on his watch so that didn't help. It was much cooler, and the sun had lost its powerful heat. Shivering, he tried to get his bearings and remember which way would take him to the hotel. Trusting his instincts, he set off and was relieved to pass the café from earlier. Realising that it meant he had been going the wrong way, Arthur discreetly spun on his heel and headed the other way, hoping no one noticed.

When he was nearing the hotel, he heard a female scream and sprinted to the sound. He saw a woman desperately clinging to her purse that a man was trying to rip from her grasp. Arthur felt fury take over and by the time the man saw him storm over it was too late. One punch and the man let go, another and he was on the floor. Arthur was satisfied at the bloody mess of the man's nose and wiped his hand on his jacket.

The lady ran over and hugged him, kissing his cheeks. "Gracié, gracié!" she hugged him again. She was about to leave when Arthur saw blood matting her hair, and his eyes narrowed. He was trying to think of the Italian for 'let me help' when she stumbled and leant against the wall. Arthur wasn't the strongest man, but hurried over and supported her to the hotel. Upon seeing them, the lobbyist gasped and averted her eyes, much to Arthur's embarrassment. Lord knows what thoughts passed her mind.

Arthur set the lady in a seat when sorting out his room and getting the key. After hurried directions, he headed back to the lady who was standing now, but he held her hand and they made it to his room.

Considering the mixed messages she might be getting, Arthur led her to a chair and then found his suitcase tucked behind the door, searching for his medical kit. She noticeably relaxed upon seeing it, and returned Arthur's friendly smile as he gently wiped the cut and applied ointment. It seemed to have been an elbow or other such impact that caused it, and Arthur felt angry with himself for not fetching the police to arrest the man.

Arthur suddenly had a bright idea and fetched his Italian phrasebook from his hand luggage. The phrases he knew off by heart were almost entirely business related.

"Um, mi nome, Arthur. Come stai?" he pointed to her head and hoped his terrible pronunciation was understandable.

"I speak little English. Thank you Arthur. I hurt little now. My hotel also." Arthur was surprised, it was a business hotel and she didn't look like someone here for a meeting. She had long dark hair that fell gracefully about her shoulders and big brown eyes. Her skin had a slight tan that suited the olive silk shirt and beige skirt. He saw a blush grow on her face as she saw him staring at her.

"My name is Maria. Thank you for help but I will go now." She stood up and Arthur wasn't sure what to say. He eyed the hotel's tea set and scurried over, eyebrow raised in question. She smiled and sat down, much to his relief. His initial attraction to her lessened slightly when she poured coffee into her cup, ignoring Arthur's disheartened expression. After serving the drinks, Arthur sat on the end of the bed and exchanged broken conversation with Maria. She was telling him of why she was in Roma when a knock sounded on the door. Arthur excused himself and walked over, peering into the peephole he saw no one. Confused, he pulled the door open anyway. A triumphant laugh sounded as Francis appeared in the doorway and stuck his foot in the door. Arthur pushed the door with all his might, but the door was programmed to not slam and to his frustration, the Frenchman easily slid through the gap and into the room.

"Arthur," he began. It was then he saw Maria. He grinned at Arthur.

"Quoi? Angleterre, who is your lady friend?" he glided over to Maria and kissed her hand. "êtes-vous Italien?" Arthur sighed and shot an apologetic face towards Maria.

"I will leave, please excuse me. Thank you Arthur, you are good person. We meet again perhaps." She left the room as quickly as she could without seeming rude, and Arthur walked her to the door. He leant his head against it for a moment, trying to think what to say to Francis.

"You've changed, Arthur." Francis said quietly.

"You idiot! I'm not like that, not like you! I stopped her getting mugged and just patched her up a bit, pervert." Walking back, he folded the medical kit back and put it in a drawer. "How heroic," Francis scoffed. He sat on the bed and picked up the teacup.

"You left a bit," he commented. A silence grew around them, but it wasn't uncomfortable. "Why can't we sit like this anymore?"

"You don't drink tea. That itself is a problem."

"She had coffee." Arthur saw how gloomy Francis was and pulled up the chair. "You know the reason, France."

"Francis is my name," he murmured, holding the teacup in his hands and staring into it.

"Please, just give up. You need to realise that it won't work. We tried, oh God you know how much we've tried. It's impossible." Francis brought the cup to his lips and squeezed his eyes shut, downing the liquid.

"It is cold! Cold and disgusting." He set the cup down on the table and Arthur smiled. Francis rummaged in his pocket and pulled out some mints. "Want one?" he asked, shoving one in his mouth. Arthur shook his head.

"What did you have to prove by doing that? We both know you have no taste."

Francis shrugged, "I could force one cup of that into my body if it came with you." It was then that he noticed the slur in Francis' voice, and assumed he'd ploughed through the bottle of wine before heading back to the hotel.

"What is the time anyway?" Arthur muttered, changing the subject and looking around for a clock. It read 7.30. Drunk this early, and you call me a lightweight," he joked and pushed the Frenchman's shoulder roughly. He must have been only tipsy for he didn't fall off the bed, but just rocked and continued to suck his mint. "Time to leave, Francis. I assume this is your hotel as well, either that or you followed me back here."

"Oui, I am in the room next to you."

"Oh, joy." Was the sarcastic response, and Arthur started to unpack with a lack of anything better to do. With a sigh, Francis stood up and headed to the mini fridge. He rummaged around, causing a huge noise and Arthur was worried something would smash. He withdrew a bottle of wine, causing Arthur to roll his eyes.

"Put it back, that is my wine, my fridge, my room. Get out." He made to snatch the wine but Francis merely giggled and held the bottle above his head out of Arthur's reach and kicked the fridge shut with a foot.

"How mature of you." Arthur grumbled, refusing to humiliate himself by attempting to get the bottle.

"Fetch two glasses, mon cher." Francis swallowed his mint as Arthur found himself obligingly fetching glasses, and before he realised what he was doing, had put them on the table and was holding them steady whilst Francis filled them.

Francis rested a hand on the table as he sipped his wine, smiling. Arthur only wet his lips before putting it down, for he was scared of the direction this was headed and needed to stay in control.

Francis knew what Arthur was doing, and downed his wine before grinning and wrapping his arms around the smaller man. Arthur started to protest but only quietly, not really wanting to leave his embrace. Francis pulled Arthur tight against him and felt satisfied when he felt a little sigh in his ear. Still wrapped in his arms, Arthur found himself being directed to the bed and he started to pull away, desperately trying to resist the aching in his heart for this man.

Francis almost threw the struggling man onto the covers and held his wrists down, positioning his body on top of Arthur as he gently placed a kiss on his forehead before brushing his lips with his own. Arthur closed his eyes, how he had missed those lips. Francis relaxed as he saw the familiar signs of Arthur's secret enjoyment. His dreamy eyed expression, the pathetic attempts to escape, his longing in the kisses. He kissed him again, deeper, more passionately. Francis freed one of Arthur's wrists, and ran his fingers through his hair and caressed his face. Francis felt his heart beat wildly as he felt Arthur's own hand tentatively touch his arm.

Overpowered by lust, Francis pulled away from the kiss, resulting in a little humph from Arthur, replaced by an excited sigh as Francis frantically started to unbutton his waistcoat with shaking fingers. Arthur shrugged it off and then, as Francis was starting on his shirt, sat upright almost head-butting him. "Wait." He grabbed his wine glass and knocked it back, before moving to the wine bottle and taking a long swig until Francis pried it out of his fingers. "If you need that much, perhaps this is bad…" he trailed off. One look at Arthur told him otherwise. He was watching him with those mesmerizing eyes, and sat on the bed, toying with a button on his half undone shirt. Francis leant over him, resting the wine bottle back on the table.

As he made to kiss him, Francis found himself being pushed over on his back and Arthur triumphantly smiled at his victory as he started on the Frenchman's shirt, almost ripping the buttons off in excitement. Francis gleefully threw the shirt off the bed and finished with Arthur's. It was pushed away, and Arthur ran a hand over Francis' chest and abs, teasingly stopping at the waistline. He shivered as Francis leant up and pressed his mouth to his neck, nibbling gently, letting his hands roam over the Englishman's body, as he remembered his touch and his taste. Francis gently turned over, trapping the Brit on the bed again, him back on top. Francis brushed his body with kisses and licks, working down to his waistband. He smoothly undid the trousers and Arthur wriggled out of them. With a tug they were on the floor. Arthur was wearing a pair of boxers that Francis had given him for his birthday. Francis felt a slight blush as he noticed, and gently slid a finger under the lining. Arthur shuddered and sat up, kissing Francis and pressing his hands against his shoulders, pulling him even closer.

They kissed hungrily, lips moving, hands roaming, tongues working. Francis was desperate for him, and the feeling seemed reciprocal as Arthur moaned at Francis' touch. "Do you remember how good it felt, do you regret holding back all this time?" France whispered in Arthur's ear, getting ready for foreplay.

With a shove, Arthur knocked Francis over on the bed and clambered on top of him.

"I'm top this time." Arthur practically shouted, much to Francis' surprise and amusement; he is the type of man born to be bottom.

"I don't think so, mon cher!" he teased, twisting and pushing Arthur off him. They rolled around on the bed for a while, battling for dominance, before Arthur finally relented, much to Francis' satisfaction. He had Arthur pinned beneath him and was working his way down to the boxers when he felt something. Upon realising what Arthur was doing, Francis strengthened the kiss.

Francis moaned as Arthur's fingers were at his crotch, undoing his trousers and yanking them down. Still at his ankles, Francis gave up trying to get them off; he was too turned on to care. He cursed himself for forgetting lube, but didn't want to hurt his Arthur, bitterly accepting a lost opportunity.

"What's wrong?" Arthur asked, nerves battling the alcohol inside him, and he smiled nervously at Francis' distressed expression. Francis shook his head and kicked his trousers off. He wanted to restore that passion. Francis slowly and teasingly lowered himself over Arthur again, an arm either side of him, their faces centimeters away. Arthur craned his neck up to meet his lover's lips, but Francis leant back just far enough out of reach. Arthur tried to pull Francis' head back down with a hand but his strength was fading due to the alcohol and he simply turned his head away to see what the Frenchman's reaction would be. Francis planted small kisses on his collarbone and neck, choosing the perfect place before taking the skin in his teeth and gently sucking, giving him a love bite. Arthur smiled drunkenly and played with France's hair that was hanging over him. Suddenly he gasped and tensed up, causing Francis to look over his shoulder as if someone was there. He confusedly followed his gaze but saw no one, and assumed the man was just enjoying the attention. He returned to his current task.

"Francis, look. We're being watched" he turned again.

"Nobody is there mon cher; only you and me." He made to kiss him again but Arthur was distractedly signalling and muttering as if having a conversation.

"Stop that! You are ruining the moment!" Francis tried to move, blocking his vision, but Arthur's gaze moved away.

"It's fairies. What are they doing so far from home?" Arthur asked wide-eyed. France groaned in exasperation, got off Arthur and in frustration, poured himself another glass of wine. It was then that there was a knock at the door.

Francis felt like shouting at whoever it was, but it was not in his nature, so he shuffled to the door, looking out of the peephole. It was America, looking rather stressed. Francis pulled the door open and irritably beckoned him inside. Arthur continued to talk to his new visitors. Upon seeing the situation, Alfred blushed and backed away whilst babbling something about Matthew and rooms and he'll come back later.

Francis let the door shut and felt a muscle in his jaw jump, Arthur and his 'amis imaginaires'. "Fairies, laissez-nous. I want to enjoy my evening in privacy!" Francis heard himself shout, and hoped no one had heard him from outside. Arthur looked up with surprise.

Francis flushed with embarrassment and concluded that spending too much time with Arthur was turning him crazy; crazy like an Englishman. He saw Arthur stifling a laugh, and he smiled awkwardly. "Just in case they are real," he fanned the air over to Arthur, hoping to brush away any flying creatures.

"You scared them! Watch out, they will be after you now." Arthur told him seriously whilst putting his trousers on, and Francis jumped onto the bed, earning a scowl from Arthur.

With a grin on his face, Francis whispered in his ear, "Well, you'll have to protect me then, mon cher. What are you doing?" Arthur smiled nervously and shuffled away from him. The earlier moment was gone, the wine was making him sleepy, and he just wanted to leave. The problem was that it was his room, and there was nowhere to go. He suddenly remembered Alfred. "I'm going now. This was a mistake. Get off me, I want you out of here when I'm back alright?" Arthur shook off the Frenchman's hand that had been holding his wrist, and pulled on a shirt, grabbed his key and jacket before heading for the door.

Francis felt a little emotion creeping into his thoughts as he heard the name Arthur was calling in the corridor. He fell down on the bed and let a tear fall down his cheek, as he smelt Arthur's scent all around him. He was sure that if any fairies were there, they would be laughing at him.


	3. Chapter 3

Alfred had turned the corner and then leant against the wall unsuccessfully trying not to wonder what they were now doing. He couldn't stop a grin at the memory of Arthur in his boxers, obviously talking to his magical friends. Perhaps France will be unlucky tonight; that would explain the cold look he'd got as the door opened. Arthur's body kept filling his mind, and he felt like he would go mad.

He wished it were himself there instead of Francis; Arthur wouldn't be having any conversations, that's for sure. To Alfred's surprise, he heard the door close behind him, and just as he was about to creep away, Arthur called out for him. Alfred scurried down the corridor before clicking the lift button and readjusting his loosened tie, pleased he had sorted his appearance out before the visit. He casually turned his head as he saw Arthur hurry around the corner and tried to stay cool and act surprised as he came up to him, in clothes.

"Wait, Alfred. Would it be alright for me to stay with you for a bit? Am I right in thinking that you wanted to talk about Matt's room or something on those lines?"

Alfred felt a smile fighting to be set free as he saw how Arthur was trying to be, still acting the big brother despite all that had happened between their countries – not to mention what he'd just walked in on.

"Yeah, yeah of course you're welcome anytime! You know that." The lift doors opened and he signalled for Arthur to go in but he was greeted with a gentle shove as he found himself stumbling inside, Arthur stepped in behind him. "Young America, your etiquette still so basic." Alfred wasn't sure what to say to that, so quickly pressed his floor number and tried to ignore the smells of wine and cologne that were surely remnants of Arthur's little evening with Francis.

Arthur broke the short silence. "So, sorry about earlier. Um…" Alfred patted him on the back with a shaking hand and forced a smile.

"Hey, it's no problem. You got away right? Now you can have a much better time with me!" he felt his face go red as he realised what he'd implied. "Wait, not like that. Oh man. I meant doing normal stuff like..."

Arthur laughed, "I know, and yes, you're probably right. So tell me about this room problem, how can I help?"

Alfred felt his breathing slow, as his mind grew clear.

"Well, whoever sorted our rooms out screwed up big-time! They put Matthew next to Romano, and Cuba is next to the lift. Matty's avoiding them by taking the stairs. He's on the 5th floor for God sake, he has to change rooms!"

"5th floor? That's not too far to walk…" Arthur was chewing on the American's words, wondering what he'll have to do.

"It is dude! Anyway it's beside the point, you are on a different floor, so can you swap rooms with him, please? He won't leave his room!"

Arthur opened his mouth to reply, when he thought of Francis. He was next door. If he changed room after what happened, Francis would think it was his own fault, think that it was something Arthur didn't want. Arthur closed his mouth, unsure of what to say, when a little voice saved him the decision.

"I'm actually right here Alfred. Thank you for trying, but I like using the stairs." Alfred jumped in surprise at Matthew's voice, not realising he was there.

"Well there we go then." Arthur said merrily, leaning back against the lift.

"Are you sure Matt?" Matthew nodded at his brother.

"Wait, why are you in here then?" Arthur asked.

Canada smiled and pointed to Alfred. "He's here, so everyone knows who is who. If anything will happen, it won't be to me." Alfred frowned slightly, but nodded and shrugged.

"Ok, that's true enough. But whatever, hopefully Cuba is chilling in his room and we don't need to worry about seeing him." The lift stopped and as the doors opened, both America and Canada froze upon seeing who was getting in.

Behind an angry looking Cuba was Russia, a hand resting on a shaking China's shoulder. The lift occupants quickly slid out as the new ones started to go in. "America! There are two of you now? What is up with that? Good riddance you shits." The doors closed and Canada gritted his teeth in anger. "Two Americas! Me, America?" his hands were balled in anger, and Arthur put a hand on his shoulder.

"You just look kind of similar. Don't take it personally, he didn't get a good look at you."

Matthew nodded and muttered a goodbye before heading for his door and disappearing inside.

"Well that was awkward. Lets go; it's just down here." Alfred pulled Arthur's sleeve gently and then dropped his hand in embarrassment. Arthur felt his breath catch in his throat, for when America was young and under his care, Alfred would often do that when he wanted to lead Arthur somewhere.

Arthur resisted ruffling the younger country's hair, for he wasn't a child anymore and things had never been the same since America's independence.

They turned the corner and Alfred fumbled in his trouser pockets, trying to find his key.

"Shit, shit, shit." He had his wallet out, thumbing through the various cards. Arthur sighed and pulled it out of his grasp, chose an expired credit card and handed the wallet back.

"This one?" he pointed to the door and Alfred nodded, confused. Arthur spun the card between his forefingers and forced it into the lock. His eyebrows furrowed as he wiggled the card around. With a click, the door swung open and Arthur grinned, putting the card down on the table inside. He stepped in, and carefully avoided the clothes and bags scattered across the floor and made it to the desk. He picked something up and went over to Alfred, who was trying to shove clothes in a smaller looking pile.

"Here's the key. Now put it in your pocket and don't lose it." Arthur waved the key in front of Alfred's eyes and held it out to him. Alfred took it and as his fingers brushed Arthur's he blushed.

Arthur chose to ignore the colour spreading across Alfred's cheeks and was getting tired of company. He just wanted to finish unpacking and sleep. He didn't even feel like speaking with fairies, despite their information on how his country is doing. Thoughts of earlier kept flitting across his mind and Arthur kept himself distracted, wondering which bag had he put his sewing in. It was then that he grew aware of the unusual feel of the shirt on his skin. It wasn't… he let his eyes wander to his arm and saw the dark red fabric. This was not his shirt.

He sighed in exasperation as he realised what he'd done. No doubt Francis was now wearing his own shirt, and would likely have no intention of swapping them back. Arthur found himself sliding down in the chair, aware of the French cologne that was surrounding him. He couldn't stop the thoughts now. He wondered if Francis liked his shirt, it wasn't as good quality as this one, but since he'd been wearing a waistcoat it hadn't mattered.

He wondered if Francis would actually wear it, since they were slightly different sizes. Arthur refused to even think that he was on the scrawny side, but accepted that Francis was ever so slightly larger built than him. He sat up again, the looseness starting to annoy him. He wanted his own shirt back.

"What's up? Do you want a snack or a drink?" Alfred had got some peanuts in his hand, shoving them in his mouth as he spoke. He was like a conveyor belt, constantly eating. Arthur grumbled his response.

"I'm wearing Frog's bloody shirt! Sorry about this Alfred, I'm going to go back after all. I'll see you at the meeting tomorrow, 10.30 right?"

"Yeah, but won't I see you at breakfast?"

"Oh yes, of course. Um, maybe. Right, I'm off. Thanks. Bye then."

Alfred waved and swallowed his mouthful before saying goodbye.


	4. Chapter 4

Arthur didn't feel like going in the lift and so headed for the stairs. His room was on the 8th floor and currently he was on the 5th so it was no problem to walk. He saw no one on the stairs, and wondered if every country was in this hotel. It wasn't even just themselves, since Maria would surely have someone from her meeting with her. Soon enough, he found his corridor and walked quietly, hoping not to meet a certain Frenchman.

He hesitated outside his door, would Francis still be there? He stayed frozen, key in hand, trying to will himself to open it, when he heard a noise. Suspicious, he slowly put the key in the lock and shoved the door open.

Upon seeing no one, not even fairies, Arthur realised the noise had been in someone else's room and sighed in relief, throwing the key down and sitting slumped on his bed. He slowly undid the shirt, remembering the last time he had been undoing it, but didn't take it off. He lay back on the bed and felt an unsuppressed grin fill his face as he re-lived earlier. He knew Francis well enough to know that the man would finish what he had started, most likely come back later to try again.

He rolled over and to his surprise felt wet against his cheek. He shot up in horror, what the hell was that? Upon inspection, he saw it was not what he feared, but tears. Worried, he looked around and saw that Francis had tidied everything away. The tea set was washed and drying, the towels straightened out on his bed, and the near empty wine bottle was on a coaster with two washed glasses nearby. Arthur put his head in his hands. He knew that Francis cleaned when he was upset, and the damp patch on the bed only confirmed it.

"Oh Francis," Arthur breathed. He shrugged out of the shirt and went to his luggage, spraying his newest and most expensive cologne on himself before unpacking a new shirt, and making sure it was perfect. He ran a hand through his unruly hair and bent down to the mini bar, finding some brandy and glass. Sitting back on the bed he poured himself a glass, knocking it back before putting them on the table, picking up the shirt, and heading to the room next door.

Arthur's mind was rather fuzzy from all the alcohol mixing inside him, and with a wildly beating heart, he knocked on the door. Upon hearing his own door click shut, he remembered that he'd left the key inside. To think he'd just told Alfred off for doing that.

Arthur knocked again upon hearing movement inside the room. He hated to think that Francis was ignoring him.

"Let me in, Frog!" he said in a raised voice. A thump sounded and then the door was opened. To Arthur's surprise it wasn't Francis, but Gilbert.

Arthur didn't smile as he was beckoned in. He hadn't thought of Francis being with someone else; he knew Francis was a passionate creature… but Gilbert?

"Oi, it's Iggy!" Arthur felt a muscle twitch in his jaw at the nickname, and swallowed nervously as he saw Francis come round the corner.

"You always overreact, jeez." Gilbert muttered. Francis shot him a glare before falling back in his seat and folding his legs.

"Here's your shirt." Arthur held it out to him and Francis took it, eyes not meeting his own. He felt a little smile play on his lips as he saw Francis was wearing his shirt. It was too tight, the fabric clearly showed his toned arms.

"Right, my awesomeness is off; places to go and all that. Bye." Gilbert pulled the door open and left.

"So." Arthur said awkwardly. Francis still didn't look at him, and Arthur was worried something serious had happened.

"Francis, look at me." Arthur said gently, but the Frenchman closed his eyes and turned his head away as Arthur went over.

"I am disgusting, you cannot see." Arthur sat on the edge of the bed. The area surrounding Francis' eyes was red.

"Sorry for making you cry," he said quietly, not quite sure why he was even saying it.

"It is not right for men." He mumbled.

"Ha!" Arthur scoffed. "Since when did you care about looking feminine?"

Francis smiled at that, and slowly opened his eyes. Just as Arthur expected, they were bloodshot and his lashes were clumped with tears.

"Stupid Frog, is it about earlier? You are making such a fuss over nothing."

"It was not 'rien' to me, prosaic tea drinker."

"I resent that, I can be romantic too!"

Francis playfully nudged Arthur's leg with his foot and sniggered as Arthur brushed his trouser leg clean.

"Don't do that! I don't care if you are upset, I only came to get my shirt back." Francis smirked at that. "Well, as you can see, that would be difficile."

Arthur felt tempted to grab France's shirt out of his hands and return to his room, but he didn't want France to win.

"Return later tonight when I will not be wearing it and I'll let you have it."

Arthur tried to ignore the innuendo, and to will the blood back to his whole body. Francis' coy smile meant that he'd noticed.

"Any fairies here?" Francis asked casually. Arthur didn't realise that his answer determined Francis' choice of action.

"No, I think they went back to London."

Francis released a slow and sexy 'hon hon hon' at that, and sat up in his chair with his confidence growing. Arthur narrowed his eyes, considering making a dash for the door when he remembered he wouldn't be able to get in his room. Francis had no problem with public sex -as he had previously found out- so a corridor would… Arthur's thoughts trailed off as he found his legs moving him towards Francis.

He couldn't remember telling them to, but didn't stop. He needed the man, right then. A look of surprise crossed the Frenchman's face briefly, but as Arthur slowly and stiffly leant over to him, he stood out of the seat, meeting him halfway and pressed their lips together, wrapping each other in a tight embrace. Arthur dug his hands into the shirt and felt his heart pounding violently, aware of Francis' beating in time with his. Francis was plastering his uncovered skin with kisses, toying with his shirt buttons and stroking his hair.

"Oh, mon cher. Mon cher, I thought you didn't want me anymore, you are so hard to read mon petit lapin. Oh, Arthur." Francis told him in between kisses and Arthur left all negative emotions deep inside him, as he pressed his body right up close to Francis, as close as they could get. Arthur let his arms roam across Francis' body and brought them to his chest, gripping the fabric and trapping him there - but of course, Francis had no intention of leaving.

Arthur felt his heart pressing against his chest violently as he set free the powerful emotion for Francis that he'd been restraining ever since it had scared him with its presence.

"Je t'aime, Arthur. But you already know that."

"I love you too, you fool."


End file.
